


Forty-Four Weeks

by x_art



Category: Snowpiercer
Genre: M/M, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_art/pseuds/x_art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s never wanted to be the leader; now, he wants it even less. No matter what Gilliam always said, he’s not cut out for it. He’s not sure what he wants to do, but taking care of the survivors isn’t it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-Four Weeks

 Week 1

_*_

_-32C_

* 

He wakes. Or more like, comes to, swimming out of a fog of pain to a world of silent uncertainty.

He opens his eyes and sees the curved metal roof. He closes his eyes again, filled with a helpless anger. After all that, he’s still on the train. Still on the _fucking_ train and he’s dead so why is he still on the—

He snarls and lashes out, hitting something that grunts. He does it again, this time harder and whatever he strikes, strikes back, slapping him across the jaw in return, just as hard.

His eyes fly open and he’s looking up at Namgoong Minsu.

Nam is a heavy weight, his elbow digging into Curtis’s hip. He mutters something in Korean and touches his jaw. Incredibly, he gives Curtis a wry smile, then shakes his finger at him and slides off. He stands up and pulls on his parka.

Curtis watches Nam make his way to a thin shaft of light and disappear. He looks around.

Yes, he’s still on the train, sort of. He’s in a car but he can’t hear the engine nor feel the familiar, under-the-skin vibration he has lived with for the past eighteen years. They did it, then; they crashed the train.

He’s surrounded by people. They are all injured; some are lying on the floor, some on tables. A woman, who has to be a frontender with that pink hair, is watching him, an IV connected to her arm. When she realizes he’s staring at her, she flinches and turns her head.

About ten meters away, the steel wall is ripped open and bright sun finds its way between sharp strips of torn metal. That’s where Nam went, through that door and he sits up, thinking to follow. It’s a mistake because he’s forgotten his arm. With no warning, the pain hits and he gasps, bending over, panting for breath.

It’s everywhere, the pain—his chest and face, even in his fucking scalpand it darkens his eyes and he falls back and back and _in…_

*

He wakes again to the quiet, this time clear-headed, not confused.

When he looks around, he does so gingerly. The pain is bad, yes, but it doesn’t make him want to scream or throw up. He looks at his arm. Someone has bandaged the stump; he touches the clean white nano-tape thoughtfully.

“You are awake.”

He looks up. Yona is threading her way around the bodies. She crouches by his side and smiles.

They stare at each other for a long moment and then he says, “We’re alive.”

She nods. “My dad stopped the train.”

“So I see.”

“We are going to live on the earth.” She pats the ground as if patting a puppy. “Like people are supposed to.”

She says the words by rote and he knows where she heard them. “We’ll freeze first.”

“No,” she says and shakes her head. “We will not.”

He doesn’t have the strength to argue. “What happened?” He gestures to the injured, the train.

“We crashed and now we’re going through the wreckage.”

“How many survived?”

“One hundred and eighty-six, although we are not finished with the count,” she says matter-of-factly. “We are lucky.”

“Not if we freeze.”

She rolls her eyes. “We are not going to freeze.” She pushes to her feet. “Do you want to see?”

No, he doesn’t want to see. He thought they were at the end but there was another end to come and suddenly, he’s not sure he wants to know the details. He wants to stay here and let the world happen without him.

He gets to his feet, an awkward, clumsy movement. When he’s upright, he holds his breath against a spike of pain and then lets it out slowly.

He’s wearing someone else’s clothing, a pair of heavy canvas pants and boots. Yona gives him a shirt. He can’t quite pull it on and she has to help him.

When he’s dressed in a thick fur coat and a single glove, she gives him a pair of sunglasses.

“You’ll need these,” she says. “Some frontender was stupid and tried to run away. We found him up on the mountain, stumbling into things, wandering around like an idiot.”

“Wouldn’t want to be an idiot.”

She gives him a strange look, then jerks her head towards the gap in the steel.

It’s not a gap, he sees as he gets closer—it’s a makeshift door. Someone has repaired the torn edges, welded and riveted a panel to the existing metal so it can be opened and closed.

“For nighttimes,” Yona murmurs. “When it gets cold.”

He wants to say something about freezing but doesn’t.

Yona has to help him through the narrow doorway and as soon as he’s through, he’s grateful for the sunglasses. Even with them, the sun glancing off the blanket of snow is shockingly bright.

And cold—he takes a cautious breath and then another. His breath vaporizes in a thin cloud that vanishes almost immediately. It’s cold, yes, but not _cold._ He takes another breath, this time more generously, and looks around. “What’s the temperature?”

“Miss Chan says it’s minus twenty-one today.”

“Who’s Miss Chan?”

“You’ll see. Come.” Yona tugs on his sleeve and leads him away from the train.

They’ve been busy, the survivors. A hut has been set up not far from the train. The area around the hut is covered with piles of machinery and what looks to be clothing.

“Come,” Yona says again. “You can see better up here.”

She leads him up the slope to a small rise. They turn around.

It’s like a carcass of a gigantic animal, the ruined train. Cars piled here, cars piled there. Some are right way up, most are on their sides. Many are merely blackened hulls and a few are still smoldering.

Yona nods. “Fire got those ones.”

“What about the bodies?”

“For now, the cold will take care of them.”

“How long has it been since we crashed?”

“Four days.”

“What’s left?’ When she cocks her head, he tries again, “Food, supplies, equipment—did it all burn up?”

She shakes her head. “We have food and ammunition and clothing; my dad is taking an inventory. See?” She points as a group of white-coated people emerge from behind an upended car. They’re about a kilometer away, but he can see they’re talking about the car. “That’s one of the prison sections. They’re deciding who to wake up and who not to wake up.”

He frowns. He’s starting to feel dizzy and it doesn’t help that he keeps wanting to tip sideways. “That’s not fair. We have no idea why they’re incarcerated. They should at least get a chance to defend their actions.”

“My dad says the same thing. He wants to make sure security is ready before they are woken up. Just in case.”

It’s a good plan and he nods. “How is he, your dad? I thought he got shot.”

“He did. He’s better.”

“Oh.”

Yona takes a breath to speak but someone calls Curtis’s name.

It’s a faint, the shout, and he watches as a small figure breaks away from a group of survivors and runs towards him. He doesn’t have to ask who it is; he starts back down the mountain, falling more than striding, balance truly off.

He meets Timmy by the hut. The boy doesn’t hesitate—he flings himself up into Curtis’s arms. The weight is too much and Curtis falls to his knees but it’s okay. Timmy has burrowed into him, holding on with surprising strength.

It was worth it, paying his outstanding debt with his arm if it meant this, that Tim is still alive and well. He rests in the snow, content to hold.

Movement catches his eye. It’s Nam, coming up the slope.

Nam doesn’t say anything when he gets close enough to talk without shouting. He just nods.

Curtis nods back.

 *

Soon after, he tells Timmy to stay with Yona and Nam and then returns to the infirmary. He’s more tired than he should be and when he lies down, it’s more like falling. His mind is racing and he should start thinking and planning but he can’t help himself—he drops into a heavy sleep.

*

He wakes sometime later. It’s dark again and the door is shut fast. Someone moans in their sleep. He pushes up on his elbow. He can’t tell who is crying so he lays back down, only then realizing that Nam is close by, fast asleep. Timmy and Yona lay protected between them. Yona is awake and when he looks at her, she winks.

 

***

 

It takes three more days for his arm and scorched skin to stop hurting.

A frontender by the name of Ingrid oversees the wounded and she changes his dressing once a day. She doesn’t speak much but she’s happy at the way his arm is healing. When she examines his arm, she peers at the flesh, nods, then bandages it all up again.

He’s seen plenty of wounds in his time but he can’t look while Ingrid works on him; just the thought of the ragged flesh makes him sick.

After the third day, flat on his back in the provisional infirmary, he grows restless, impatient. He ignores Ingrid’s advice, puts on his borrowed coat and glove and leaves to find Nam.

Nam is with some strangers, investigating one of the cars. Curtis offers his help but Nam shakes his head, makes a shooing gesture and says ‘ _Rest.’_

And that’s okay because it’s only when he’s up and walking around that Curtis realizes his balance isn’t coming back anytime soon. The place where is arm was somehow feels _more,_ as if his arm is still there only it now takes up more space, more sensation.

It’s not a comfortable feeling and he takes the reprieve from duty for what it is and spends the next week in one of the empty dining cars, practicing. Walking isn’t so bad nor is sitting or standing. But moving quickly is impossible and he keeps stumbling into things.

Timmy tries to help but only gets in the way and after the second day, Curtis tells him gently that he needs to learn this on his own and to stay with Yona.

He’s at it one day, sweating and cursing under his breath as he picks himself up off the floor. He’s hung a thick seat cushion on the wall and it should be an easy target but he overshoots it every fucking time.

“Five point four kilograms, give or take.”

He twists around, almost falling again. Nam is in the doorway between cars. He’s not dressed for the outdoors—he’s wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants and is holding the translator to his throat.

“What?”

“Your arm. It weighed somewhere around six kilograms.”

“Okay.”

Nam shakes his head and comes forward. “Let me see.”

“What?”

“Your arm,” he says in English. “Let me see.”

No. No fucking way and he backs up a step. If he can’t stand to look at it, there is no fucking way is he going to show it to—

Nam makes a placating gesture. “Okay, okay.” He thinks a moment, then says, “You are over-compensating. You need to move your point of contact to the right.”

Curtis waits for the digital voice to stop translating, then says, “I _have_ done that. I’m doing that right now.”

“No, you are not. You just think you are.”

He rolls his eyes. “What do you suggest?”

Nam pockets the translator and moves to the middle of the car. He gestures and says in English, “Try me.”

Curtis cocks his head and then nods.

He raises his arm and adjusts his stance. But, with no warning and very little noise, Nam rushes him, shoving him back against the cushion, punching him in the ribs with a not-gentle fist.

He grunts and tries to respond, but Nam is too close and he can’t find any purchase. Nam hits him again. He grabs Nam by the hair, pulls him off, then uses his whole body to shove him away.

They stand there panting, some two meters of space between. For a man supposedly addicted to a dangerous drug, Nam is quick. He opens his mouth to say that very thing but Nam leaps again, surprising his words away.

*

They spar for maybe twenty minutes but it feels like twenty hours. He manages to throw a few good punches before Nam raises his hands in peace and backs off.

Without a word, Nam leaves.

He practices for another twenty minutes alone, but it’s different. He manages to place his hits, one after the other. They’re not perfect, but they’re better than before.

*

That night, for the first time in what seems forever, he sleeps straight through to morning.

 

***

_About -25 C_

_Result of crash: loss of over 70% of the cars, including the main engine_

_Inventory: 2 working generators, 5 computer stations, 2 greenhouse cars, roughly 200 pounds of meat and vegetables, no running water. Need to figure out a shower system. The 3-D tech car is gone and so is the raw organic compounds and thermoplastics._

_Note: need to gather up as much wood as possible. Ask Nam about assigning tasks._

_Three people died from their injuries. We don’t know their names._

 

***

 

“In no particular order, we have eleven teachers, two artists, three musicians, one security specialist, three doctors, two nurses, four architects, one veterinarian, fifteen soldiers, two electricians, one engineer, one astronomer and one hundred and seven others from various service industries, including those of the prison variety. ”

Curtis nods absently as Chan finishes the list. It’s more than he’d hoped for, when Nam said they needed to inventory skills as well as goods. They’re gathered around one of the tables in the dining car nearest what Reynolds calls _‘The Orangery’_ and the air smells strongly of flowers and earth. Yona and Timmy are curled up on one of the seats; Yona has made a book for Tim and is reading it to him.

“Another engineer would be nice,” Howin says thoughtfully.

“Or a climatologist,” Reynolds adds. “We have to know if it’s getting warmer. It has to be at least minus twenty-eight out there.”

Simon nods in agreement and murmurs, “Practically balmy.”

Chang Chan is a political detainee, imprisoned after the last revolution. She’s from Scotland, about forty, and was a bio-project manager, whatever that is. She’s the only one of the group besides Nam that Curtis trusts, even though there’s no real reason to trust her. She reminds him of Mason, without the insanity or ugly clothes.

Yuen Howin is much younger, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six. Curtis doesn’t know a lot about her. All he knows is that she is a frontender, is very quiet, and she and Chan are friends.

Jean-Louis Reynolds is an Australian journalist. He’s in his sixties and likes to bring up the fact that he was a journalist.

Simon Montes is relatively new, brought in by Nam the day before. They used to know each other before the Revolt of the Seven. Like Howin, Simon is in his twenties and equally quiet. Nam says he used to be a teacher.

“As long as we’re dreaming, we could use a surgeon, too,” Nam says via the translator. “And a software programmer.”

Chan leans forward. “I think one of the doctors has surgical experience. We can utilize her skills.” She smiles at Nam.

Curtis glances at Nam and then back at Chan. Over the past three weeks, they’ve grown close. He sometimes sees them together, talking about this or that. It might be because they have similar professional backgrounds or just that they’re about the same age.

He’s not sure what he thinks about it, the friendship.

“What about the Salk printer?” Reynolds asks.

He shakes his head in an effort to get back on track. “All the 3-D printers are gone. We could build a new one but we don’t have any compounds.”

“That’s not good,” Chan murmurs.

They are all silent for a moment. Without the medical compounds, there’s no way to make new medicine or vitamins. Without medicine and vitamins, disease and contagion could run rampant. Curtis isn’t a doctor but even he knows that either one would be disastrous.

He forces a smile. “We’ll worry about it later. Now, we just need to push on.”

Howin raises her hand tentatively. “So we are going ahead with the plan?”

Curtis shares a glance with Nam, then says, “Yes. We’ll meet with the survivors tomorrow. We’ll put it before them and see what they think. We need to stress that we’re not going back to the old way.”

“No more shoe and hat nonsense,” Chan says firmly.

He doesn’t know how she found out about the Shoe incident, but he smiles. Although Chan despised the old structure as much as he, she had an elderly mother to think of. When her mother died, she joined the ill-fated revolution and that was that.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Everyone will have a chance to contribute. No one belongs to anywhere.” He’s not sure he believes that—frontenders fucked everything up, starting with the global weather. They belong in the rear, as far as he’s concerned. Not that he can say that, of course. “We’ll all decide.”

He waits for Nam to argue, but he says nothing. After a moment, he continues, “If it’s a go, we’ll divide into groups and begin recovery.” He taps the paper notebook that he keeps with him at all times. It’s full of lists and charts and strategies. It’s also a diary, begun when he felt the need to make a mark of the time and events. Just in case.

“We need to finish up the demo on the train,” he adds, “we need to figure out what to do with the engine, we need to protect the remaining crops and finally, we need to see what can be salvaged from the computer systems.”

“Laundry, bathing area, sanitation, as well,” Chan says. “And the tank?”

Nam had managed to rescue a portion of the most delicate of the train’s inhabitants: the marine life. Big fish like the rays and the zebra shark died during the crash. Unlike Nam, Curtis isn’t worried about maintaining a broad ecosystem—it’s one of the things they argue about.

Which brings him to his next topic and he clears his throat. “We’ll leave the fish alone for the moment. They’re safe. What we need to talk about is the survival of us, of the human race.”

By the look on her face, Chan knows what he’s talking about but Howin frowns.

“As far as we know, we’re it. A hundred and fifty people aren’t much to keep the human race going, but we need to try,” he explains. “Most of the kids were killed during the crash; we need to repopulate.” He thinks of little Andy, cocooned inside the train’s motor and he feels the blunt edge of anger. At least Tim survived.

No one says anything. He’s not sure if the frontenders ever had to deal with the idea of repopulation but he and Gilliam had discussed it many times. It was the one of the reasons for the rear-ender’s high birth rate. “Luckily,” he says after a moment, “we have a fair number of women. We actually have more female survivors than males.”

Reynolds shakes his head. “I might be wrong, but I don’t think that’s how it works. Before the cold, I was doing research in Geneva for Time magazine. They sent me to interview a geneticist who believed that birth defects weren’t caused by wonky female genes but by defective male genes.” He glances around the table. “See, as we get older, our DNA breaks down. Men over forty have a greater chance of having a kid with autism or Down’s. Which means we need more men than women, right?”

Chan and Simon speak at the same time. After a moment, everyone but Nam is talking, each trying to speak over the other three.

Curtis sits back and lets the noise wash over him.

He never wanted leadership of this tiny island of civilization. He was all for Nam taking control but Nam refused, saying he was concerned with other things.

Chan also refused. She said it was crucial that they start a school for what few kids remain—she’s determined that they not be allowed to slide back into the old ways. He’s not sure if he agrees, but Chan is smarter than he is so he’ll take her word for it.

As to the rest, he still doesn’t trust them enough to ask; most of them are frontenders.

He carefully doesn’t think about Gilliam and his betrayal; he’s got enough on his plate without agonizing over that one.

“Curtis,” Nam whispers.

Curtis glances up. Nam nods to the group—they’re still arguing, the words heated, angry.

Curtis straightens up and says loudly, “Hey!” The group shuts up and looks at him. “I said we need to discuss it, not that we need to make a decision right now.” He sits back. “We have time. Just think about it, okay?”

They all give varying degrees of assent.

He looks out the window. “It’s an hour to sunset. We’ll meet again in a few days. Have your recommendations for your committees by then.” He gets up, a signal for them all.

Nam puts on his parka. Instead of calling for Yona, he goes outside.

After a moment, Curtis asks Chan to watch the kids, then he grabs his jacket and glove and follows.

The snow is packed firm by the survivor’s tracks and the going is tricky. He almost slips once but manages to catch himself.

Nam doesn’t turn when Curtis joins him on the crest of the rise.

“Well?” he asks, after a moment. The rise is uneven and he’s slightly shorter than Nam; it’s odd, having to look up at him.

“Well, what?” Nam asks in English.

Curtis fishes the translator out of his pocket and talks into it, “How do you think it went?”

Nam listens, then says, “You know what I think. We have discussed this many times before.”

They have, and each conversation has been as productive as hitting a brick wall. “I know you think all the frontenders are out to get us. I know you think we should all go our own way and try to survive on our own.”

Nam turns. “Then why ask me again and again what I think if you already know?”

He shrugs and looks around to avoid Nam’s gaze. The recovery teams have made more progress in this last week than they had the previous four. Maybe the shock of the world ending and then not ending has finally worn off.

“I don’t know,” he finally mutters and looks back up at Nam. “You got us this far, Nam. You should have a say in what happens next.”

Nam sighs. “Then I will tell you what I have told you before.” He drops the translator and says in halting English. “I will take a team and go over the mountain. I will see what is there.”

He makes an aborted gesture of frustration. “And what if nothing’s there? What if it’s just more mountain?”

Nam listens carefully, then shrugs.

Curtis steps closer and now they’re the same height. He doesn’t know why the thought of Nam leaving is so terrible but it is. “You could get your team killed; you could die.”

Nam nods. “Then I die.”

“And Yona? What about her?”

“She will go with me.”

Curtis clenches his jaw. The sun is almost down and the temperature has dropped. “And that’s all she gets? Doesn’t she deserve more? Doesn’t she deserve a real life?”

“Why do you think I am doing this? I do not want her to end up _here!”_ Nam gestures savagely, taking in the wrecked train, the snow-covered mountains.

“So…” He takes a deep breath, forcing anger away. “Seventeen years on that fucking train and a few months on earth because she’ll _die_ out there, you know she will.”

Whatever he says has hit home; Nam looks away.

He steps closer and now they’re almost touching, chest to chest. “She’s happy here. She’s teaching Timmy how to use the computer. Chan is teaching her how to cook. She’s _happy_ here.”

Nam frowns and then holds the translator up. “Have you thought what it means, this re-population?”

He nods slowly. It, and so many other things are all he’s been thinking about over the last five weeks.

“It’s not just the women that will be expected to conceive,” Nam says grimly. “The girls will, too.”

Yona is Nam’s number one concern—Curtis knows this, knows that everything Nam has done, has been to keep her safe, to keep her free. “We’ll make a rule, no forced pregnancies, no one under a certain age unless it’s their wish.”

Nam almost laughs. “You think that will matter to those men?” He jerks his head towards the train. “I cannot watch out for her every minute of the day.”

“Then, I’ll help. Chan will, too; I know she will. The three of us will keep Yona safe. I promise.”

Nam stares at him, as if trying to look into his soul. Finally, he sighs and nods. “Let me think about it.”

He wants to smile; he’s suddenly as happy as if the sun has just come out. “Okay.”

As one they turn to go back down the hill.

“I do want to see how far we are from civilization,” Nam says.

“Okay.”

“We are going to need a second generator.”

“I know.”

“We need send out hunting parties.”

“I know.”

“If there are polar bears around, there is prey.”

“Yes.”

“And my name is not _Nam._ It is _Namgoong_ or _Minsu_.”

This time he _does_ smile. “Okay.”

“ _Nam’”_ is not a name; it is nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Idiot,” Nam growls in English and bumps his shoulder against Curtis’s.

“Okay.”

*

When he gets to the cabin, Timmy is already asleep under the blankets. Nam and Yona are curled up on the seat. They look up from the book they’re reading; Yona smiles.

After his arm had healed, he surveyed the cars with some of the other survivors. Most of the sleeper cars had been destroyed in the crash, but three weren’t a total loss and he claimed a room on one of them for his own.

It was in a good spot, near what was the front of the train. It had a single point of entry and its own bathroom. He covered the window with the remains of a table, reprogrammed the lock and removed one of the seats to make room for four.

Then he returned to the infirmary and gathered up his and Nam’s sleeping blankets and carried them to the car. That night, he and Timmy waited in their old spot. When Nam and Yona showed up for sleep, he picked Timmy up and led them to the cabin. Yona squealed and asked if it was all for them. He said yes and she began to examine the space, chattering excitedly with Timmy.

Nam, as usual, had said nothing; he just chose the spot nearest the door and lay down.

The cabin has served them well; it’s private, warm, and secure. Beyond using the sink to melt ice so they can wash, the bathroom has no function. He’ll get around to fixing that some day. For now, it’s more than enough to have a place to think.

In the past, he always slept in the clothes he wore during the day but he’s tired of that. He strips down to his thermal underwear and climbs under the covers. Timmy makes a sound and opens his eyes.

“Hey,” Curtis whispers. “I thought you were asleep. Do you want a story?”

Instead of answering, Timmy says, “Mrs. Chang says she knows my mommy.”

He hesitates. He’s fairly certain that Tanya and Chan had never met, but what does he know? He’s tried so hard to forget things—maybe that was one of them.

Still, he doesn’t like to lie so he settles for, “What did she say?”

“She says Mommy is smart.”

He smiles crookedly at the misplaced word. Tanya will never be an ‘is’ again and the thought makes his stomach hurt. “She is. She’s smart and kind and fierce.”

Timmy tucks his hand under his cheek. “What does _fierce_ mean?”

“It means that she wasn’t afraid of anyone but a lot of people were afraid of her.” He smiles again and turns on his side to face Timmy. “Especially when it came to you. Everyone knew that to mess around with you meant to mess around with _her,_ so no one did.”

“Do you miss my mommy?”

He thinks of Tanya and Edger and Grey and Gilliam. “I miss them all, every day.”

Timmy closes his eyes. “Tell me a story.”

“Which one?”

“The one where Mommy made the doctor fix my arm.”

It’s a story he’s told many times and he starts by rote: “Once upon a time, there was a woman named Tanya—”

“Mommy,” Timmy interrupts sleepily.

“That’s right. Tanya had pretty dark skin and hair…”

He continues softly because it only takes Timmy a few minutes to fall asleep. At one point, he glances up. Nam has stopped reading and is watching him, his expression oddly blank.

Curtis stumbles in the story, just for a moment, then catches himself and continues, _“…so she took the doctor by the arm and…”_

*

By the end of their sixth week, they’ve formed five loosely organized groups. Each group is tasked with specific agendas. There are no leaders, as such; each person takes a turn in leading and reporting the findings to the community at large during their weekly meetings.

Curtis knows it can’t last long, this division of power. However much he hates it, he understands why Gilliam made the choices he made. People are animals, after all, and hierarchies form as natural as breathing. But, he assures himself, he’ll never encourage or support a leadership run by the few and fed by secrets and lies.

He’s had enough of secrets and lies.

 

***

 

_-29 C_

_Colder this week, end of season?_

_Nam and I have surveyed all the cars. We haven’t found any more survivors which means at least seven hundred are dead. We’re going to leave them for the time being. Like Yona says, the cold will keep them. No one has mentioned using the bodies for food._

_The inventory is complete and we’ve begun constructing housing units from the cars. I think we should have a central building where we could all meet. We could use the metal from the train._

_We’re rationing wood and food. JL Reynolds has an idea about making warmer clothing from the seat covers. He’s asked Yona and Howin to help him. I don’t trust him but Nam says he’s harmless._

_The showers in car 8 broke already. Need to figure out how to fix them. Dr. Friedrickson says we need to keep clean or we’ll get sick. I told him we were filthy on the train and it never seemed to affect us that much._

_Nam has rigged up a temporary security system for the food cars—people are hungry and hungry people aren’t trustworthy._

_Nam says we’ll need more food soon._

_I ate my first orange. It made me sick._

***

 

Nam takes a hunting party out the following week. The group consists of Chan, Reynolds and an ex-cook by the name of Butler.

Nam insists that Yona stay behind and Curtis witnesses their first true fight. It’s not very long; they shout in Korean and then Yona runs out, crying. Before Nam leaves, he tells Curtis that he trusts him. Curtis doesn’t have to ask why.

They’re gone for three, long days.

Curtis spends the time checking on the progress of the teams, helping with the creation of the second generator and keeping an eye on Yona. She’s an intelligent girl and picks up the mechanics of perpetual mechanics quickly. Her English is almost flawless and he wonders where she’s learned such archaic notions as _‘four o’clock is tea time,’_ and the proper way for a lady to sit. Probably from Chan. By the end of day two, she’s sticking as close to Curtis as she does to her father.

When the hunting party returns, burned by cold, tired and hungry, the news isn’t good or bad. They found polar bear tracks and the skeleton of some sort of animal but that was it. No sign of other humans or animals, just snow and cold.

But, Nam has brought back a hoof of the dead animal and Simon examines it eagerly. It’s cloven, he says, possibly from a deer or a sheep. He doesn’t think it’s been dead for very long.

Curtis is disappointed. He reminds himself that this was the first real foray. If the world is thawing out as Nam says it is, it will do so slowly. They just need to be patient.

He goes to bed that night, unhappy about the results of the hunt, happy that Nam is home.

*

Later, he thinks it’s good that Nam and the group came back when they did because the next morning, they have their first real emergency.

*

He wakes to the sound of Yona screaming. He springs to his feet, trying to dress while he scrambles for his rifle and figure out what has terrified her.

She leads them outside. It’s not quite dawn but it’s easy to track the cause of the uproar. Two cars down, people are running out into the cold in a scattered frenzy.

Nam may be in better physical shape but Curtis is somehow faster and he gets to the car just as a woman named Maeve comes stumbling out.

“There,” Maeve screams, pointing to the car. “It’s in there!”

Nam joins him, momentum slamming them up against the train, together.

Curtis shrugs Nam off and peers inside.

The door, a patchwork of metal and leather, has been torn off its hinges and is lying on the car floor.

He steps cautiously onto the ruined door and adjusts his rifle. It’s awkward, the angle, and he wishes for an ax or knife.

A low growl startles him and he whirls.

It’s a bear. Not white but dark brown and about four feet high. It’s got something in its jaws but before he can see what it is, it charges.

Someone shoves him out of the way and he trips, hitting his head on the floor. He isn’t knocked out but his vision darkens, like it did during the battle in the tunnel. He hears shots and cries and noise. He manages to make it to his feet in time to see the bear lumber out of the car, chased by Nam and Simon.

The bear tries to escape up the hill but it’s wounded and falls not far from the train.

There’s a hush as the survivors gather around it. It moans and pants and claws at the snow.

Except in a picture book when he was a kid, Curtis has never seen a bear before. It has a snout like a dog and thick gold-brown fur and long claws. Even with the scrap of fabric caught in its teeth, it’s beautiful.

“Put it out of its misery,” Chan says quietly.

He nods and Nam shoots the bear in the head; it stops breathing.

No one says anything for a long moment.

“Was anyone hurt?” Curtis asks, still watching the bear, the way a light breeze ruffles its fur.

“It got the last of my chicken dinner,” Maeve says, coming up to stand next to Nam. “I was saving it for tomorrow.” She starts to kick the bear, but Nam stops her with a hand on her arm and a shake of his head.

Curtis swallows and looks around. “Can someone find Butler?”

*

He waits until Butler forms a group to take care of the bear, then returns to the cabin.

He’s not sure why, but the idea of watching Butler skin and slice up the bear makes him nauseous; he can’t get the images out his mind. He washes up even though he has no reason and then, instead of returning to make sure everything is okay, he drops to the floor, back against the seat. He puts his head in his hand.

He’s sad but he doesn’t know why. The bear would have killed them all, if it could. That’s how it was, kill or be killed and he should be used to that by now.

Someone comes in. He looks up.

Nam is standing in the doorway, expression serious and somehow still.

“Thanks for…” He nods towards the door. “You probably saved my life.” He smiles making a joke of it even though he’s not really sure who pushed him out of the bear’s path, even though he doesn’t feel like laughing.

Nam doesn’t smile. “Are you okay?” he asks in English.

Curtis wants to nod but he can’t because he’s not okay. He’s still sad and he still doesn’t know why and yeah, he’s not as smart as Chan or Nam, but his feelings are _his_ and he should know _why._

Nam visibly hesitates, then comes closer and kneels. He reaches out and touches Curtis’s cheek with his fingertips.

The gesture is shocking and not because Nam’s fingers are cold. It’s something else and he swallows so hard his throat hurts.

Nam’s expression shifts and his gaze drops to Curtis’s mouth. He brushes his thumb against Curtis’s cheek and leans in.

It’s nothing, the kiss. Tanya gave him a similar one long ago. On the lips with no passion, cool skin on cool skin. That’s all, no more.

But it’s also _not_ nothing and a noise, rhythmic and heavy, rushes through his body like the tremor caused by metal on metal and the train is stopped, the train is dead, so it can’t be the train, this overwhelming noise.

Nam pulls back after a few seconds. He clears his throat.

The noise recedes. Curtis can think of nothing to say. Nam looks away as if confused and it’s nothing Curtis has seen before, Nam confused. He starts to speak but running footsteps stop his mouth.

Yona slams into the cabin, followed by Timmy. She flings herself at Nam and asks, “What does bear taste like?”

The words are a trigger and Curtis has to swallow again, this time against bile.

Nam says something to Yona in Korean but he’s watching Curtis closely. He jerks his head. “Go, both of you. Learn how to…” He finishes in Korean.

Yona glances between them, then reluctantly tugs Timmy away.

Nam waits until they’re gone, then stands up. “Come,” he says, holding out his hand. “We need a proper security system. I should have thought of it sooner. We will get Howin and make it.”

“Why Howin?”

“She has—” Nam squints, trying to find the word. “Aptitude. Come.”

Curtis lets himself be pulled up. They stand there, almost hip to hip. “Your English is improving.”

Nam shrugs. “Better than your Korean.”

*

Later, when Curtis thinks about it, all he remembers from week eight is an odd tension, as if his entire body has turned to stone. He makes no mention of any of his feelings in his journal because they’re just that—feelings. He concentrates on surface things like the need to eat, sleep and make sure everyone stays safe.

Beyond that, he waits.

*

_-16 C_

_Much warmer this week. Managed without my glove and jacket for almost twenty minutes._

_Nam and Howin finished the new security systems for each of the cars. They say each system is redundant and independent._

_Howin has found a stick LME4 player. The vid projector isn’t working but she hooked it up to a speaker and it plays. She’s teaching Tim and Yona how to dance._

_Chan likes the idea of a communal, apartment style, building. She says we risk going back to our old ways if we’re always divided like we are right now. Good point._

_A frontender named Ahmed died today. Ingrid thinks it was food poisoning. We can’t bury him so we’re going to wrap him in a sheet and put him in one of the unheated cars. Chan thinks we should have a mass service for all the dead._

*

Eleven days after the bear attack, Nam tells Curtis he’s taking out another hunting party and this time they’ll be gone at least a week, probably more.

They’re standing near a bonfire, watching the children dance.

Earlier in the day, Howin tells him she has jury-rigged the stick player to a mini-speaker. She wants to play it for the community. Thinking of Chan’s words, Curtis agrees and he and Simon create a pyre of remanufactured wood and real wood, sparingly coated with Kronole. They light it after sunset and Howin turns the music on. Soon, the entire community has joined them, some sitting on plastic crates, some dancing. Everyone is having a good time.

It’s the first time they’ve had such a gathering and Curtis makes note: they’ll do it again in a month or so. It’s important to relax and celebrate moments that have nothing to do with the hard work of survival or the old way of train life.

Nam finds him there with Howin, warming his face and hand before the fire. Nam touches him on the arm and leads him away from the heat, then tells him via the interpreter that he and three others will be leaving in the morning.

“Why tomorrow?” Curtis asks, stuffing his hand into his pocket.

Nam shrugs. “It is the right time. We have extra meat. And the days are getting warmer and longer.”

He nods because he’s been keeping track, and yes, they have. “Who are you taking?”

“Chan, Simon and Butler.”

“Not Reynolds?”

“He says he can be of more use here.”

“More like he just doesn’t want to freeze,” Curtis says under his breath.

“More like.”

He grins at Nam’s knowing tone, then nods. “I wish we had some way of keeping in contact.”

“My iPhone is dead.”

“Mine, too,” he says wryly, even though he’d never been able to afford anything like a cell phone in his old life. It’s an odd thought and it brings home how different he and Nam are. Nam is older by twelve years; he lived on earth almost as long as Curtis has been alive. He probably had been educated in a university. He once belonged with the elite, the frontenders.

Curtis glances over at the dancers—most of them were also part of that same elite and it shouldn’t matter that he wasn’t, right?

“Curtis?” Nam says, drawing his attention.

He takes a breath, turns, and forces a smile. “Fine. Have you talked to Yona?”

“I will.”

“Okay. I’ll see if Chan needs me to fill in for her at the school.”

“Yona will help. That will keep her occupied. We will leave at first light.”

“Okay,” is all he says. They walk back to the fire. He’s not thrilled that Nam is going but he won’t let himself think on why that is.

*

Yona, predictably, is not happy, either. She doesn’t cry but her face reddens and she gets very silent. She runs up to Howin and asks if she can sleep in her cabin for the night and without waiting for an answer, stomps off to the train.

Nam watches her leave, then shakes his head and sighs.

*

He’s in bed when Nam returns from meeting with the other hunters. He listens as Nam strips, wondering if he’s waiting for Nam to say something about the trip or waiting for another kiss like the one that he should have forgotten but hasn’t. He falls asleep that way, still wondering.

*

A muttered curse wakes him. It’s dark but he can make out Nam, getting ready for the trip. He’s trying to balance on one foot while he pulls on his thermal underwear.

As usual, Timmy is curled up under the covers like a mole but he tugs the covers higher, just in case. He stares from under his lashes. He doesn’t need light to see that Nam’s body is honed by the cold, hunger, and hard work.

He should say something, at least a goodbye, but he closes his eyes and pretends sleep.

Until the noises of preparation stops. He opens his eyes. Nam is standing above him, watching him like so many times before, eyes half closed.

And then with no warning, he kneels and bends over Curtis and kisses him, this time not softly.

Curtis doesn’t have time to think but his body knows what to do—he tips his head and returns the kiss, meeting force with force. The rhythmic rumble is back, crashing through his body and mind as he opens Nam’s mouth with his own, a swift craving that has nothing to do with true hunger burning his face and chest.

Nam tastes of smoke and smells of ash but it doesn’t matter. He only wishes he has two arms because it’s been a long time since he kissed anyone this way and he wants to make it last, make it count.

The thought leads to another and another he remembers Wilford and Gilliam and their singular reason for needing two arms. He breaks the kiss and draws away.

Nam gets to his feet, picks up his gear and then he’s gone.

Curtis rolls to his side, back towards Timmy. His first reaction is to push the incident away to the back of his mind. It’s what he’s done in the past, both recent and not recent. He’s tired of it, though, tired of pushing away his own wants in favor of everyone else’s.

It bothers him a bit, this small act of conscious rebellion and he wonders what Gilliam would say. Probably something along the lines of, _‘You need to stay focused, my boy,’_ or _‘What would it achieve, this relationship?’_

But—and he turns on his back to face the roof of the cabin—maybe not. Gilliam had Grey, after all.

He places his hand on his chest and falls into a light doze, thinking about Gilliam, Grey, and Nam.

*

_-12C_

_Still warm._

_Began work on the community building. We’ve been collecting materials. I worked with Mr. Stephens today. We demoed car 17 and 18. Stephens used to be an architect. He’s got some good ideas about how to insulate the structure.  He says we should consider adding plumbing so we can have a community-type kitchen and bathrooms. I told him that we didn’t have running water but he said we should build for the future._

_A frontender got sick yesterday. Her name is Adisa. Ingrid and Fredrickson quarantined her but they’re sure it’s just a cold._

_Nam is still gone. I thought he’d be back by now._

_Yona and Howin were out exploring and they found a girl on car 27 named Rebecca. Rebecca has been hiding out this whole time. She said she was afraid a rear-ender would eat her so she’s been stealing food and water. I told her none of us would eat her. I asked Ingrid to find her a place to stay._

_*_

It’s almost hot, the day the party returns from the hunt eleven days later.

Curtis is helping Howin. She has built a third generator for the school car and has an idea on how to make it a hybrid half perpetual, half solar powered system. Curtis isn’t sure of the mechanics, but follows her direction anyway.

He’s just replaced the makeshift photovoltaic grid when he hears shouts and calls.

“They must be back,” Howin says excitedly. She springs up and runs out of the car. Curtis follows more slowly.

It’s still sunny outside and he puts on his sunglasses and surveys the slope. He sees them. They’ve just crested the ridge and are coming down. There’s something odd about the way they’re walking and he shades his eyes with his hand. They’re carrying something between them.

“Finally,” someone says.

He looks around; it’s Reynolds, pulling on his jacket. “This is their second hunt,” he says pointedly.

Reynolds takes off up the slope, saying over his shoulder, “Second too many—that bear meat won’t last much longer.”

Curtis waits until Reynolds is out of range before muttering, “Asshole.”

By the time the hunting party has made it halfway down the mountain, they’ve been joined by most of the community. The happy crowd sweeps down to the space around the dead bonfire. It’s become a meeting point, of sorts, and they gather around the hunters and their cargo.

Curtis makes his way to the center. His gaze meets Nam’s. He wants to smile but settles for a nod.

Chan drags a crate to the center, stands on it and calls out, “Come closer! I’m tired and don’t want to shout.” She waits until they move in, then continues, “We didn’t find sign of human life, but we found a small herd of deer. We managed to trap and kill one of them.” She points to the bundle at her feet and people cheer.

“But,” she adds over the noise. “We have news that’s even better than that.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket and holds it in the air. “About forty kilometers away, this mountain range begins to drop in elevation. We found two connected valleys with less snow and a small stream. We didn’t have time to climb down to the valley, but we could _see_ the water.”

The people around Curtis begin to murmur.

“Curtis?” Chan steps off the crate and gives the paper to Curtis. It’s a crude map, showing the hunters’ route. He’s examining it when someone from the back shouts, “Who cares about water? We’ve got enough to last us a lifetime! We need to find more people!”

The voice belongs to a frontender named Ken Park. Park isn’t adjusting well and challenges anyone’s authority. Curtis steps on the crate. He holds up the map, waving it as Chan had. “Running water means we have options,” he shouts. “Running water means everything to us right now. It means the atmosphere is warming up which means more game and crops.”

The people around him nod and smile. It’s a good thing, this discovery.

“We all know we’re somewhere southwest of what used to be Russia, but we need to know more,” he says, excitement rising. He’s not used to giving speeches, but the words come easily. “We need to find a place to call home. A place that’s safe and that can provide food and shelter. Once we get settled, we’ll figure out a way to communicate with the rest of the world.” He waits, scanning the crowd for frowns and disagreement.

“Okay.” He nods. “We’ll talk about it over the next few weeks but right now we need to thank Nam, Chan, Simon and Butler for risking their lives for us.”

By the time he’s done talking, the crowd is cheering and surging forward to congratulate the hunters. He grins, mostly at Nam’s look of furtive, angry embarrassment.

*

They have a party that night.

Yona and Rebecca set up the player and Chan lights the fire. Reynolds and Simon have skinned the deer under Butler’s direction and are cooking the meat over the flame. It smells good.

He’s waiting his turn, watching Chan and Nam sitting by the fire as he and Reynolds discuss the amount of work it will take to move even part of the community when Adisa comes running up.

“Mr. Everett?”

Adisa’s cold was just a cold but she’s taken an interest in medicine. Ingrid has told him that she’s been dogging her steps, asking question after question about illness and disease. Apparently, her mother had been a doctor in Nigeria and she wants to follow the same career path.

“Yes?”

“The greenhouse generator is out again. Howin asked me to tell you.”

“Where is she?”

“She’s in number one. She says she needs a bus—?” Adisa stops, frowning.

“A busbar?”

Adisa’s face clears. “That’s right. A number one hundred and fifty insulated busbar.”

“We should have plenty. But,” he adds, when Adisa frowns again. “I’ll get it. Here.” He gives her the plate he doesn’t need. “Make sure you get enough to eat, all right?”

She nods eagerly and runs to join Yona, Rebecca and Tim.

*

He taps in the security code on what has turned into the engineering/electronics supply car; the light turns green.

It’s as cold inside as it is out and he’ll make this quick. The busbars are kept in a crate that Howin had neatly labeled, appropriately enough, _Busbars, Copper and Aluminum._

He finds what he needs and is pocketing it when the door opens. He looks over his shoulder.

Nam steps through the door.

Life is fucking weird, he thinks as Nam stares at him in the blue glow of the overhead lights. He has lived most of his life through unending turmoil but at the same time, he has lived without change.

Then the train crashes and everything is different, everything is new.

Like this, this recognition that the waiting is done, over and finished.

“I have to get a busbar over to Howin,” he warns. He pats his pocket. “She needs it.”

Nam nods.

“Will you come with me?”

Nam nods.

*

He feels every step from the car to the main greenhouse as if he’s living in a dream. Or maybe an underwater nightmare because sound and sight are muffled and he can’t quite feel the ground beneath his feet.

Nam follows like a shadow, a bare two feet behind. Neither of them speak.

Howin is in the middle of the car on a ladder, the generator panel hangs on a hook next to her. He gives her the busbar. She thanks him, then glances between he and Nam. She doesn’t ask what is going on but he thinks she wants to.

They turn as one and walk to their car. As soon as they get inside, he takes off his glove and cap.

He’s at their door, trying to remember the code for the lock when Nam breaks the two-foot barrier. He steps close behind and reaches around. Smoothly, he taps in the code, opens the door and pushes Curtis inside. He locks the door again.

The cabin is big by Curtis’s standards. Three meters wide and four meters long, it’s larger than any bunk, room or cubby he’d ever had. But suddenly he feels huge in this dark, claustrophobic space and he can’t quite breathe, can’t quite move.

Nam, though, has no such problems; he matter-of-factly begins to strip off his clothes.

Curtis is no good at sex. Before the train and while on the train, his only experiences have been furtive, need-driven encounters that he’s forgotten as soon as he’s pulled up his trousers. The one moment that stands out is that fifteen minutes with Grey; it had been good but even now he feels a certain amount of shame, even though the reason has been dead a couple months, now.

So, no good at sex and no matter now much he’s waited, how much he wants this, he wishes he and Nam are fighting or arguing. Anything to break this permafrost chill that has paralyzed his body.

Nam is pulling his undershirt over his head when he glances at Curtis. He sighs and stops undressing. He reaches for Curtis’s jacket, pulls it off and tosses it to the floor. Then, he puts his hands on Curtis’s chest and gently shoves him backwards towards the bench seat.

The backs of his knees hits the seat and he drops. Nam climbs on top, knees on either side of his thighs.

This is much better; Nam is heavy and he surrounds Curtis with heat and pressure; the frost begins to warm. He tips his head back, mouth open.

Nam tastes different this time; he’s been drinking mint tea and has just showered—he smells of the pale grey soap that Chan and Ingrid make at the infirmary. A thought occurs and he grabs a fistful of Nam’s hair and pulls him back.

“Are you fucking Chan?” he asks, sudden worry and jealousy making his words sharp, abrupt.

Nam cocks his head and answers in English, “No. Are you fucking Howin?”

The relief is cool, clean, and he smiles. “If I said yes, would you stop?”

Nam jerks free of Curtis’s grip and sits back. He strokes Curtis’s thighs and hips. “If I say yes, would you let me go?”

His smile disappears and he leans up to take Nam’s mouth again. “Try me,” he mutters against Nam’s lips. “I dare you.”

Nam answers by not answering, forcing Curtis back against the seat, giving him careless kisses on his mouth and chin.

He runs his hand up Nam’s belly, palm flat, feeling ridges of muscle. Nam has a deep scar on the curve of his hip and he fingers it. Nam arches into his touch; his kisses turn hard.

He’s clumsy, but he manages to shove Nam’s undershirt up. Nam shivers and Curtis follows the shiver with his tongue, licking a long stripe up Nam’s ribs past two scars to the center of his chest. He bites.

 _“Sshibal,”_ Nam mutters.

He smiles against Nam’s skin. Yes, his Korean isn’t good, but he knows that one—Nam uses it often enough, mostly at him. He bites again and Nam rubs against him, groin to groin.

They don’t undress all the way. Curtis would take the risk, but Nam doesn’t give him the chance. He strips Curtis of his wool sweater, his turtleneck and then opens his trousers. He slips his hand inside Curtis’s shorts and it’s his turn to moan and swear. _“Fuck,”_ he growls as he spreads his legs wide and inches his hand into Nam’s thermals.

It’s quick and good and when he comes, Nam is close behind, whispering in breathy Korean. He doesn’t need a translator for that, either.

*

Cool air creeps up his thighs and over his arm but he doesn’t move. Nam has fallen on him, head resting on his shoulder. He’s not sure if he should hold Nam or not and his arm rests awkwardly along Nam’s back.

They stay that way for a long while.

*

They’re cleaned up and dressed by the time Yona and Timmy join them. Yona gives them a long look but asks no questions.

That night, when the kids are in bed, Curtis and Nam stay up after. Curtis writes in his journal and Nam works on the plans for a new type of short wave radio.

At one point, he looks up. Nam is watching him and for once his gaze isn’t opaque.

He presses his lips together, aborting the smile, and returns to his journal.

 

***

_-18C_

_We had a cold snap last night. Howin is worried that our brief warm period is over. I don’t think it is but I suggested she check the generators. Work seems to make her happy. Simon seems to make her equally happy. Nam says they’re sleeping together._

_Gilliam told me one time that the worst thing a prisoner can experience is boredom. I think it’s the release from prison. We’re still trying to find our footing because the train was like a prison for a lot of us. We haven’t had too many problems or arguments but I know they’ll happen eventually._

_Nam has finished his radio. He can’t pick anything up off it. He wants to climb to the peak off to the north to try it there._

_I told him he should wait until we make the next trip to the valley. It’s been a week since his discovery and we’re hard at work getting ready._

_I’m going with them this time. We’re bringing Chan, Butler, LaSalle, Stephens and Ali. If the location is promising, we’ll set up camp. I’m worried about wood and building materials—we don’t have enough to spare. Nam says he has an idea on how to transport what we can from the train. He won’t tell me what it is. He says to be patient._

_Howin, Ingrid and Simon will watch out for the community. Yona, of course, wants to go and is furious that Nam still says no._

 

***

 

“Curtis?”

He’s going through his gear, trying to make up his mind which boots to wear—the leather ones will be the most sturdy but the rubberized ones will be much warmer. He looks over his shoulder. Timmy is standing a few feet away. Yona is in the corridor, arms crossed over her chest.

He tosses a boot down and says, “Yes?”

“Yona says you’re leaving and you’re not coming back.”

Timmy has grown a few inches in the last few months but he’s still a kid with kid fears. Curtis shoots Yona an angry glance; she shifts from foot to foot, then looks down at the floor.

Curtis holds out his arm.

Reluctantly, Timmy comes to stand in front of him. Curtis picks him up and sits him on his knee.

“Nam and I are gonna find us a new home. The one I told you about. Remember?”

Timmy nods.

“I’ll be gone for a while, maybe a month.” He tips Timmy’s chin up so Timmy can see his eyes. “But I will be back.”

Timmy’s face twists like he’s trying not to cry. “What if you don’t? What if a bear eats you?”

He hesitates, trying to find the words to convince Timmy that it will be all right.

A hundred things could go wrong on the kind of journey he’s about to undertake and he understands Timmy’s worries. Animals, falls, cold—human beings are incredibly fragile.

“He will be all right.”

He and Timmy both jerk their heads towards the door. Nam has come in; Yona is behind him, still looking at the floor.

“I will make sure he is all right,” Nam adds. “Yona was just…” He pauses, looking for the word.

“Kidding?” Curtis says, helping Nam out.

Nam nods. “Kidding. She was just kidding.” He sits down on the other end of the seat. The seat isn’t wide and his knee touches Curtis’s.

“See?” Curtis adds, giving Timmy a brief hug. “Nam will take care of me; you’ll see.”

Nam touches the back of his hand, then gestures for Yona. Just as reluctantly as Timmy had, she comes forward. But Nam doesn’t say any harsh words of punishment—he just pulls her down to sit on his knee. She curls into him and smiles wanly at Curtis.

It was like this, Curtis remembered, that last moment on the train. The plastique exploded, the world blew apart, and instinct threw him forward to meet Nam, to protect the children. Everything has changed since then but, he thinks, watching Nam and Yona, nothing has changed since then.

 

***

 

Week 42

 

_+4 C_

_We finished the third building yesterday. It’s smaller than I wanted but like Nam says, the buildings are temporary. In the spring, we’ll get started on the permanent structures. If there is a spring, that is. It’s going to snow soon and no one knows it if will ever stop again._

_Nam wants to build our new city after Rome—in concentric circles. The children and their families will be housed in the center along with our most valuable resources. Each surrounding ring will house the rest and serve as storage. The outer ring will be for protection._

_It’s a good idea but grandiose. I made the mistake of telling Nam that; he didn’t speak to me for the rest of the day._

_Butler and Simon killed two elk a few days ago—the drying meat attracted a bear, so we also have bear meat and fur for the new season. Now all we need is to figure out how to carry the greenhouse over the mountain and we’ll be all set. It’s the only car we haven’t been able to port._

_Howin thinks she might have gotten a ping off her latest broadcast. It sounds like an echo to me. She says she’s not leaving her post, no matter how many days, because she doesn’t trust the recorder. Simon managed to convince her that losing that much sleep isn’t good for the baby._

_Chan returned with the third group this morning. Reynolds is staying on the train. He says he wants to usher in the new year even though we only have a rough idea of when the new year is. I think he wants to stay because Ingrid won’t leave until Maeve is back on her feet and everyone knows that Reynolds is in love with Ingrid._

_*_

He puts down his pen and rubs the back of his neck. The communications annex is warm, thanks to the machinery. The consoles hum and beep and it’s soothing if a little boring, watching the tiny screen for any sign of life. So far, the extended ping that Howin recorded the week before hasn’t repeated. But her excitement is contagious and he now believes that she is right—someone out there is trying to communicate with them. Only time will tell if they’re friend or foe.

He relaxes back in the chair and closes his eyes. No one has discussed the possibility of the latter. He’s not sure if it’s because they can’t bear to think of it or if they all share the knowledge that if they’re attacked by humans with better weapons, there’s a strong chance they won’t survive. They’ve tried to prepare for everything but weapons are their weak spot.

A muffled roar catches his attention and he cocks his head. The party is still going strong.

“Hey.”

Right on time. He smiles and gets up.

Simon shakes off the snow and stamps his feet. His face is red and shiny.

“Are you sure about this?” Curtis asks, nodding to the console. “I can stay the night.”

“I’m fine.”

“How ‘bout I get Ken or even Butler? They haven’t taken their turn.”

“No.” Simon shakes his head. “Howin will worry if it’s not you or me or Nam. You know how she is.”

He does. Howin may be quiet but when it comes to her work, she’s dedicated and stubborn. “Okay.”

“You’ve done enough these last few weeks, anyway. Go get some rest.”

He puts on his jacket, hat and glove. When he’s encased in leather and wool, he says, “Congratulations, again.”

Simon beams. “Thanks, Curtis. Thanks a lot.”

*

A light snow has begun to fall. The experimental field is dusted with white and the river moves sluggishly, as if it knows its time is coming.

He walks carefully because it’s very dark. The days are getting shorter and the game is getting harder to find; luckily, they prepared. Hunting parties went out every week and the greenhouses have yielded a surprising amount of vegetables.

They discuss their rations at every meeting. By Chan’s calculations, they have enough food to last three months. In his head, Curtis always adds, _‘If we’re lucky,’_ because the unexpected always happens.

*

Their place is warm but it’s not because of machinery. It’s because Stephens is inventive when it comes to designing and constructing. One would never know the building is made of metal, fabric and wood, held together by old-fashioned quicklime cement and powered by the ever-present sun. Chan always says it may look like a prison but it doesn’t live like one.

Their place is also surprisingly big. Stephens designed the family housing as central rooms with sleeping areas on either side. The bedrooms aren’t big enough to hold more than two narrow beds but the main room has a small kitchen and room for a sofa and dining table. If they had a sofa or dining table, of course. They have a small desk, a couple chairs, both made by a young frontender named Marcus. They’ll get more furniture soon—Curtis doesn’t care much about furniture but Nam says the kids need a place to do homework and play when it’s cold outside.

They still have to finish the electrical—the portable lamps are only good for a few hours. There’s also the plumbing, and Nam wants a window in their bedroom. Curtis doesn’t care about windows, either. Even though their bed touches both walls, the room sometimes feels too big and a window would only make that worse.

He removes his outer clothes and washes his face. It’s still early; he could turn around and go to the party, if he wanted.

He goes to the wall refrigerator and gets a bottle of water. He takes a long drink, thinking he might as well stay because the party will be coming to him, any minute now.

On the heels of that thought, the door opens and a dark figure slips inside.

Nam is holding a bottle and wearing the dark red vest that Chan made for him from a frozen frontender’s dress. It looks a little weird with the cold-weather bibs. Not that he’s going to say that any time soon; Nam is touchy about some things. The only time he ever teased Nam, he didn’t get any sex for a week.

He does like the new look, though—Nam refuses to trim his hair but he’s gotten rid of the beard. It makes him look a lot younger, like the frontender he used to be.

“How is she?” He asks while Nam takes off his jacket and hangs it up by the door.

“Fine. The girl is, too. Our first official citizen.”

For some reason, Nam has inexplicably taken to Howin and Simon’s new baby. Curtis doesn’t know if it’s because of his strong tie with Yona or because it means that what was theory might be fact—when there are babies, there is continuation of life. “That’s good.”

Nam pulls his gloves off, using his teeth, one after the other. “Anything on the radar?”

Nam’s English is improving—he rarely uses the translator anymore. “Just static.”

“Then…” Nam raises the bottle and shakes it.

Curtis smiles and sits on one of the chairs. Nam takes off his parka, then joins him.

The wine is good. Butler has found a way to mix their dwindling stock with some of the berries found by the river. Curtis was worried at first that they’d all be poisoned but Chan told him that Ingrid had identified the berries as edible and that Kazakhstan had been making wine for almost two thousand years.

It’s something he can’t stop, this worry. Worry that the gradually warming climate will take a dramatic turn for the worse. Worry that illness or contagion will sweep through the town.

“Did Howin tell you the baby’s name?”

He looks up. The battery from the portable lamp is starting to die and Nam is mostly in shadow. “No. What is it?”

“Xiang Marie Liu Phillips.”

He half smiles, half frowns. “That’s a long name for such a small baby.”

“How would you know? You have not seen her yet.”

His smile disappears. “I’ve been busy. I’ll go soon.”

Nam is silent. And then he leans forward, out of the shadows. “Curtis,” he says evenly. “You are not that boy anymore. You will not hurt the baby any more than you would hurt Tim or Yona.”

He’s already shaking his head. “I can’t. Not now, I can’t—” He stops talking because he has to. Yes, he’s not that man anymore, but he did those things, all of them and if anyone knew—

He finishes his wine; it hurts going down.

“You always talk about moving forward, pushing on,” Nam says after a moment. “Maybe you should take your own advice.”

He looks up at Nam, staring blindly like Nam is the sun and all around is bright snow. “How do I do that?”

“You keep on doing what you are doing. Pushing us forward, making things better.”

It’s not a lot to hold on to and Nam seems to realize it because he pours Curtis another glass of wine and adds, “If it helps, Yona does not fear you.”

He’s never thought of that and the realization is like a tiny flame in his chest. Yona is a valuable barometer. She warned them just before Ken Park went crazy and tried to set one of the greenhouses on fire. She told them about the wolf that attacked Ali.

And after that one time before the explosion, she’s never, ever been afraid of him.

“You’re right,” he mutters, relief making him almost dizzy. He takes a sip of wine and this time it goes down smoothly. “Are the kids at the party?”

“They are.”

He doesn’t know the exact time but it must be around eight. “We might have as much as an hour.” He jerks his head towards their room.

“More.” Nam smiles. “I asked Chan if she could keep them tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow. A lot of his new life is a surprise; Nam’s wholehearted dive into this relationship, or whatever one calls it, is one of them. “I take it she said yes,” he says, trying not to smile.

“She did. She will keep them until school time.”

He finishes his wine and stands up. Nam does the same.

*

Nam is always quicker off the mark; by the time Curtis has pulled off his sweater, Nam is naked and under the sheets.

Nam watches, hand rubbing his own chest while Curtis sits on the bed to untie his boots. As usual, he’s at the unlacing part when Nam sighs impatiently and says, “I will do it.”

He grins and leans sideways to give Nam room. He strokes Nam’s hair and back, already hard, picturing how it will be because they’ve done this so many times and this is usually how it ends up: Nam stripping him quickly because he’s purposefully slow.

When he’s naked, Nam slips back under the covers and holds them up. Curtis joins him. They kiss, then kiss again. He rolls to his back, pulling Nam on top. He spreads his legs and presses up. So good. They had sex just this morning but it seems like forever and all he wants is Nam fucking him as hard as he can, as long as he can.

*

After they finish, he wants to move but is too tired. He’s vaguely aware of Nam leaving to get the washrag, vaguely aware when he’s cleaned up.

*

He sleeps for what seems like hours and wakes up with a shiver. Nam has gotten up and gone outside. Now he is back, cold, and crawling into bed.

“It is snowing hard,” Nam says. “There is maybe two centimeters on the ground.”

Despite the chill, Curtis turns on his side and pulls Nam to him. He slings his leg over Nam’s and wraps his arm around his waist. “I wanted to finish the playground. Now, it’ll have to wait.”

“The children will be busy with school for the next few months.”

“Speaking of: Tim says he’s too old for school. He says it’s for babies.” He squeezes Nam’s waist. “I wonder where he got that idea?”

Nam shrugs and doesn’t make excuses for Yona. “She is bored. She wants to go on the next crossing.”

“Maybe she should.”

He waits for Nam’s customary _‘She’s too young’_ but he doesn’t say anything. In the old life, a child had to grow up quickly. Nothing has changed in that regard and maybe Nam is finally realizing it.

It will be good for Yona. He’s been watching her and an idea has come to him. It’s crazy because she’s had little education to speak of, but then, his own education was nothing to shout about.

It makes sense, his idea. Yona is smart and curious about everything and everyone. She thinks on her feet and is physically strong. Besides, what better leader for this newborn colony than a clairvoyant?

He’s never wanted to be the leader; now, he wants it even less. No matter what Gilliam always said, he’s not cut out for it. He’s not sure what he wants to do, but taking care of the survivors isn’t it.

Chan is finally coming around.

Just the week before, she asked him flat out why he’d been delegating certain administrative duties to Simon and Howin.

He told her they couldn’t make the mistakes of the past, that they had to spread out the responsibilities in case one of them got sick or even died. He reminded her that he’d never had any interest in leading anyone and that she was far better suited to the role than he.

She actually hesitated and said she’d think about it. Since then, he’s noticed that she seems to be everywhere, helping, giving advice. He’s certain she’s going to take the job—it’s just a matter of time. He’s not worried about what the community will say; they all trust her.

In turn, the three of them can train Yona. Nam will guide her in strategy, Chan will teach her how to deal with people. He’s not sure how he can help but he’ll be there in case she needs him. By the time she’s in her late twenties, she should be ready to step into a more permanent role.

Of course—and he rubs his palm against Nam’s chest—that’s assuming they survive and thrive.

He has yet to tell Nam of any of this, mostly because it really is a crazy idea and there’s still so much to do. The health clinic, a bigger greenhouse, a better school with more teachers, a non-denominational church—they need it all, and they need it now.

“What is it?” Nam murmurs.

“Nothing.”

Nam snorts softly. “You worry too much. You need to go with the flow. It will all work out.”

He laughs. “ _‘Go with the flow’?_ You’ve been spending too much time with Butler.”

“Maybe.”

His laughter fades. If Nam’s wholehearted dive into this relationship has been a surprise, his sense of humor hasn’t been. It’s one of the things he’s come to rely on, Nam’s ability to see the ridiculous side of their hazardous life.

 _“‘Go-saeng Ggeut-eh naki eun-da’,”_ he murmurs into the back of Nam’s neck, hoping he got the pronunciation right. He’s been waiting for the perfect moment to trot it out, practicing under his breath when Nam isn’t around.

Nam twists in his arms. “Where did you learn that? Yona?”

He nods. “She’s been teaching me Korean.”

Nam smiles. “What else do you know?”

“Not much,” he admits. Everything sounds the same to him and he’s pretty sure he’ll never be as fluent as Nam. “I know how to say ‘goodbye’ and ‘hello’—things like that.”

Nam rolls over and wraps him up tight. “Let me hear,” he whispers. “Tell me.”

He begins, stumbling over the consonants and vowels, partly because they’re hard to remember, mostly because Nam is busy kissing the words away.

 

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the spelling of Namgoong Minsu's name, I went with the translation from the movie—when in doubt, go with the source.


End file.
